


Follow Stars (You'll Be Alright)

by troubledpancakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6073030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledpancakes/pseuds/troubledpancakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, Tables of Contents in the first chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> I closed/finished my previous drabble collection at 50 chapters, so I figured I should probably start a new one.

**T A B L E  O F  C O N T E N T S**

* * *

 

ii.  **The Windows Are Illuminated By You** ; 'Bellamy and Clarke moving into their first house together. Bonus Octavia and Miller if you want.’ + ‘Hanging pictures’

iii.  **I Don't Care, I'm Looking At You** ; 'These clothes aren't _her._ ' [Pretend they don’t immediately take off in the rover following Lincoln/Sinclair’s funeral. Post-312]

iv. **To Have Stayed Where We Have Stayed** ; 'Bellamy gets drunk, kisses Clarke, cannot remember a thing, thinks they had sex, and there is a Misunderstanding.'

 

v.  **Got Everyone Watchin' Us** ; ‘artist!clarke taking a break from her museum/gallery showcase for a quickie with curator / security guard!bellamy, maybe in the coatroom, or in an exhibit free of people, on the sly’


	2. The Windows Are Illuminated By You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Bellamy and Clarke moving into their first house together. Bonus Octavia and Miller if you want.’ for bellarke + ‘Hanging pictures’ for crystalkei
> 
> Minor Wellven + Minty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is my boty runner-up prize for lthranduilion (bellarke) and obviously I am the worst, because it’s been over a year since my boty awards and I haven’t finished all my gifts. AND THEN, Crystal got mad at me because I didn’t write a BSV fic for her to read before bed, so I asked her for a prompt and told her I’d write something, so I’m combining it with this one.

Clarke stands in the foyer, hands on her hip, gears turning in her head. The walls are stark white and the hardwood floors smell like polish and she rolls up on the balls of her feet and bounce. 

This was hers. Was _theirs._  

Bellamy slides up behind her, hands circling around her waist. They are warm and he presses them flat against her stomach and pulls her back against his chest. His chin settles on top of her head and Clarke relaxes against him.

“I can’t believe we bought a house,” Clarke says quietly.

She can feel Bellamy smile and they stand there for a second in quiet before Raven Reyes comes barreling through the doorway... loudly.

“Did you guys even _get_  this house inspected? Jesus, do you know how much money you’re going to waste on electricity? The wires are like, the most inefficient wiring system I have ever seen. Goddamn it, Blake. Was your head up your ass when you closed on this house?” Raven is dropping a trash bag full of pillows in the middle of the living space, spinning around, she settles her hands on her hips and cocks an eyebrow at them. 

“Good morning to you, too, Raven.” Bellamy snorts.

Raven rolls her eyes. 

“I see you found the moving truck.” Clarke gestures to the bag she just set on the floor. 

Raven huffs. “Yeah, well, your stupid lumberjack of a friend is out there stacking boxes on the sidewalk. He’s kind of hard to miss.”

Clarke bites back a smile, because ever since Raven broke up with her co-worker Wick, she’s been _convinced_  that she doesn’t need another relationship. Ever. That doesn’t stop her from getting flustered every time Wells is around. 

_“He’s so fucking big, Clarke. Why does a person need to be that big?” Raven says with exasperation as they sit on the floor of her old apartment, wrapping up trinkets while Bellamy and Wells carry furniture down to the U-Haul. “And for fucks sake, Clarke, can’t he wear a shirt that fits properly?”_

“Wells is not a lumberjack, Raven.” Clarke steps out of Bellamy’s embrace. “He’s a carpenter.”

Raven rolls her eyes, _again._  “Whatever.”

 _“Clarke!”_  A voice calls from outside and Clarke flashes another smirk at Raven before trotting off to see what they needed. 

Wells stands on the curb, two stacks of boxes separated by their labels: **Bedroom**  and **Kitchen**. 

“What?” Clarke says once she reaches her longtime friend. 

“Where do these need to go?”

Clarke squints at him. “Uh, the bedroom and the kitchen?”

“No shit,” Wells deadpans. “But _where_  is the bedroom?”

Clarke flashes a shit-eating grin. “Kitchen is inside, to the left of the foyer. For the bedroom, go down the hallway on the right, and it’s the second door on the left.” 

“Where would the world be without your cunning wit?” Wells says, crouching low to lift a box labeled **Bedroom**  with his legs. Clarke glances over her shoulder at Raven, approaching with a scowl. 

As Wells heads to the house, Clarke _definitely_  hears Raven muttering about his dumb thick thighs and stupid fitted t-shirt. Clarke picks up a box herself and follows the boy inside.

At some point in the day, Monty and Miller show up with a pitcher of moonshine lemonade and the whole group takes a break on the porch late in the afternoon. 

“Why the fuck did you buy a house in the middle of a heat wave?” Miller grumbles, taking a long sip of his drink.

Bellamy snorts. “Sorry we didn’t check with the meteorologists before finding the house of our dreams for you there, Nate.”

Raven gravitates closer to Wells, now sitting next to him cautiously on the porch swing. 

“House of your dreams, huh?” Monty quips. “Don’t tell me I’m the only one that noticed the third bedroom? Ideal size for-”

“An office?” Bellamy interjects quickly. “You’re right! Maybe I won’t have to write my next novel at the kitchen table, surrounded by Millers gym socks.”

Miller tosses a wood chip he pulled up from the porch at Bellamy, who dodges it swiftly. 

Clarke is slotted between Bellamy’s legs on the step below him. She flushes at the insinuation and Bellamy just squeezes her shoulder. 

“Really though, guys,” he says. “Thanks for all your help today.”

Raven shrugs. “Free pizza and booze? Sounds like a solid trade to me.”

Clarke smiles, flooded with fondness for this group of friends. 

“Shit,” Wells says, looking at his phone. “I gotta get going. I have that thing for my dad tonight.”

Raven watches him stand. 

“Did you need a ride, Raven?”

“Oh,” Raven mutters. “Sure, yeah, that would be great. My roommate actually dropped me off.”

Wells smiles and holds out a hand to help her off the bench. Raven indulges him, letting go unnaturally quick and she smooths down her pants and waves, following Wells to his jeep parked next door. 

“Those two are idiots,” Monty says with no heat.

The group laughs. 

Miller pushes up on his knees. “Ready to go, babe? The dogs are probably going nuts.” 

Monty smiles and jumps off the banister where he's perched. Miller slings an arm around his husband as they shuffle down the pathway to the car across the street, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone on the porch. 

“Good, they’re gone,” Bellamy breathes. 

Clarke laughter vibrates against his chest. Clarke stands and jumps to the bottom of the stairs. Holding out both of her hands, Bellamy grabs them and Clarke pulls him off the step as he groans inwardly, joints popping.

“Oh my god, you are such an old man.”

“I am only four years older than you,” he points out. 

Clarke shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you ain’t old, homie.” 

Bellamy scowls in mock disbelief, smacking her on the butt and racing up the stairs. “Who’s old now?” he yells over his shoulder as Clarke chases him.

Dodging boxes as he darts around the living room, Clarke finally jumps over a wire container of picture frames and tackles him onto the couch. 

“Oomph!” Bellamy hits the cushion, Clarke laying across his chest with a playful expression. 

Scooting up his body, Clarke captures his lips in a kiss. Bellamy’s hands come to rest on her hips, squeezing them when she tugs on his bottom lip. Clarke pulls away smiling and buries her face in the crook of his neck. Bellamy wraps his arms around her and cradles her body against his warmly. 

“What else do we need to do tonight?” Clarke mutters into Bellamy’s neck.

Bellamy takes a deep breath, thinking. “Hm, we could put our engagement pictures on the wall.”

“That’s a good idea.” Clarke rolls off of him, dropping her feet onto the floor. She wanders over to the wire container full of pictures and pulls one out. They are sitting on a flannel blanket in the middle of a field, all natural light and gentle embraces. “I love this one.” She smiles warmly at it, dragging a finger across the glass.

Bellamy slides up behind her, glancing over her shoulder. “It was a good day.”

Clarke leans back against his chest. Reaching around her, Bellamy takes the frame and positions it on the wall. Stepping to the side, Clarke watches on as he taps a nail into the white wall and props the frame up on it. 

They step back after Bellamy adjusts it, and Clarke squints. “I think it’s a little high on the right side there.” She points at the picture. 

“Oh?”

Clarke has already returned to the wall, carefully tipping the left side up to level out the photo. Bellamy crosses the space in two large steps and crowds her against the wall. 

“I remember what else we did on the blanket that day.”

Turning slowly, Clarke’s back hits the wall and she stares up at Bellamy. He braces himself on the wall on either side of her head and Clarke licks her lips. “Maybe you should remind me,” she says, low.

Bellamy leans in impossibly slow and presses a soft kiss just below her ear, finishing it off with a gentle bite. Clarke arches off the wall, grasping at his t-shirt in the process. His hands automatically hook underneath her and Clarke jumps up, allowing Bellamy to trap her against the wall as she wraps her legs around his waist. 

It escalates quickly from there. Bellamy working her over quickly with two fingers pressed into her heat. 

Later they lay together in the middle of the living room floor in a pile of blankets they pulled from one of the boxes still stacked around the room. Clarke is sweaty, trying to catch her breath when her eyes catch the wall and the single frame perched on it. 

She bursts out laughing. 

Bellamy frowns, one arm under her head, the other settled on his stomach. “What?”

Clarke’s laughter subsides into soft vibrations and she rolls onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “So much for hanging the engagement pictures.”

“Oh,” he says sheepishly. The lone frame sits utterly askew on the wall from their _activities._

She leans down and kisses him thoroughly. 

“Welcome home, Bellamy,” she whispers, pulling back.

Bellamy reaches his free hand over and brushes a strand of hair from her face, her bright eyes reflecting the last rays of sunlight streaming in through the window. 

“Welcome home, Clarke.”


	3. I Don't Care, I'm Looking At You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These clothes aren't _her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretend they don’t immediately take off in the rover following Lincoln/Sinclair’s funeral. Post-312.
> 
> Title from Blake Shelton, 'My Eyes'

The morning after, the air in Arkadia is sharp and everyone remains on edge. Monty suggests they get a solid night of sleep before taking off to find Luna. Nobody really protests, not after the day they had.

Clarke finds herself in the abandoned med center, where there are a few cots with threadbare blankets strewn across them. She didn’t actually _have_ her own quarters in Arkadia. Not since she left, not since she stayed in Polis, so this would have to do.

Looking down at her attire, she sighs. It’s clunky and heavy, not anything she wants to sleep in. Her fingers start working against the dozens of small clasps and hooks and metal bars that hold the grounder armor in place.

There’s a mirror on one wall, rusted and cracked, but she can see her reflection, nonetheless. Shrugging off the large coat, Clarke stares at herself in the simple black undershirt that remains. Swallowing hard, she begins to work her fingers through the last of the braids that still adorned her head, working her fingers gingerly through the knots that have worked their way into being.

She keeps staring, thinking that she’ll see herself. Thinking that she’ll see the Clarke she was four months ago, a year ago, _before_. Her breathing picks up, shallow and hoarse, her whole body erupts into anger.

Clarke screams, grabbing the mirror from where it hangs precariously on the wall and throwing it to the ground where it shatters. Her eyes sting with salty tears as she strips out of the shirt, and the pants, and the boots that aren’t _her_.

“Clarke?”

She whips around to see Bellamy standing in the doorway, and she in her bra and underwear.

“Shit, sorry,” he swears, turning around hastily.

Clarke chokes out a laugh. “I’m-- _sorry_ , I just couldn’t-- it’s not _me_.”

“I know,” he says softly. “Can I?” She sees his shoulders shrug sheepishly.

“Yeah.”

He turns around and takes her in. She’s leaner than he remembered, but still soft. He doesn’t pretend to not notice the bruises, tinged a greenish-yellow, from her scuffle with Emerson.

“I think I could find you some clothes, if you want,” he says. He’s still wearing that dumb coat that looks too small for him, frayed at every seam and zipped up as it pulls against his broad chest.

Clarke sighs heavily. “Okay.”

Bellamy watches her for another second before gesturing towards the door. “Yeah, so, I’ll be right back.”

“Right.”

He nods and turns, retreating from the room.

Clarke uses the few minutes he’s away to finish detangling her hair and then swiftly working it into a single braid down her back. When he returns he stops, like he _forgot_ that Clarke was only in her underwear when he left five minutes ago.

“So, here.” He hands out a small pile of clothes. “I’m not sure if they will work, but…”

“I’m sure it’s great, thanks Bellamy.”

She doesn’t wait for him to leave before pulling on the clothes. There’s a pair of Ark-issued pants on the top of the pile, a warm, stretchy material that feels good as she pulls it over her hips. Upon looking back at the pile, she feels a blush creep into her chest. It’s a blue t-shirt with a tiny slit in the collar. The color has faded, from what she remembers is being, and there are a few worn holes also near the collar, but it is undoubtedly Bellamy’s shirt.

Clarke shoots him a quick glance and he ducks his head. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I should go, right?”

She’s pulling her braid out of the shirt after tugging it over her head. “Well, I’m basically dressed now, Bellamy, what’s the point?”

He coughs. “Oh.”

She smiles at him. “Thanks.” Her voice is quiet, and she plays with the hem of the shirt where it hits her, brushing the top of her thighs. It’s just big enough that it slips down her shoulder a little bit, revealing the strap of her bra.

Bellamy’s eyes bore into hers, and then travel down her body, stopping at the shirt, as she pulls on a pair of socks and boots.

“Are you going to sleep in here?” he asks, realizing that she has her bag set on one of the cots.

Clarke shrugs. “Well, I don’t have a room here, remember?”

Bellamy hums.  “You could, uh, stay in my quarters.”

“Then where will you sleep?” She frowns.

Bellamy drags his hand across the back of his neck and shrugs. “I’ll figure something out, there’s literally no one else in Arkadia. Who’s to stop me from sleeping in Kane’s bed?”

“I don’t want to think about what happens in Kane’s bed.”

Bellamy laughs, and Clarke feels a weight in her chest lift.

“C’mon,” he says, tipping his head towards the door.

Clarke smiles, picks up her bag, and follows Bellamy.

His sleeping quarters are small, but neat. Like it hadn’t really been touched since they’ve been on the go. She walks slowly along the edge, looking at the assortment of objects he’s collected and books he’s found. Her fingers trail along a dresser of sorts until it hits a book, turning it in her hands. _The Iliad_.

“Wow, I always knew you were a nerd.”

Bellamy turns to look at her and his eyes darken. “Put it back.”

Clarke drops the book, and a small pile of dust puffs up into the air.

“Sorry,” she says quickly.

Bellamy suddenly softens. “Shit. No, I’m sorry, it’s just-- it was a gift.”

Clarke nods, understanding. “From Gina?”

He frowns.

He knows what ALIE said, when she was using Raven to get to him. He knows what she probably heard.

“Yeah, it was from Gina.”

Clarke steps towards him.

It’s darker now, a faint glow from a few lanterns keep the room lit, and Bellamy drops his gaze.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to talk about Lexa?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They stand there, inches away from each other now. Bellamy lets out a slow breath, then points to the bed next to them. It’s bigger than her bed was on the Ark, with a myriad of mismatched blankets and pillows patched together. “Make yourself comfortable, or, whatever.”

He turns to leave and Clarke catches his wrist. “Stay.”

Bellamy turns, a heaviness in his eyes.

“Please,” she whispers.

He doesn’t want to think about it, what it means, he just nods.

They each deposit their things, toe off their boots and climb onto opposite ends of the bed after Bellamy dims the lanterns. Bellamy lies completely still, staring up at the ceiling, hyper aware of the proximity of the girl that left him, but the girl that he can’t lose.

They lie there in the dark, several inches of space between them.

A few minutes later, Bellamy feels Clarke’s hand take his own, lying between them on the blankets. No fanfare, no declarations, she just intertwines her fingers and rubs her thumb against his. “Goodnight, Bellamy. Thank you.”

“Good night, Clarke,” he says, voice hitching.

The next morning, she’s out of bed before Bellamy is and his eyes open groggily to see her digging through her bag on the dresser, his blue shirt slipping off her shoulder.

He lies there and watches her.

Slowly, but surely, she’s coming back. Clarke is coming back.


	4. To Have Stayed Where We Have Stayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy gets drunk, kisses Clarke, cannot remember a thing, thinks they had sex, and there is a Misunderstanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from **Lucky** by Jason Mraz feat. Colbie Caillat
> 
> _for Jade_
> 
> This is basically just an elaborated DM that Jade sent me, and she needs a pick me up.

Clarke’s phone rings and she jolts, curled around the arm of the couch with her sketchbook under her cheek. Her mouth sticks to a page, sticky from drool and she peels it away, simultaneously scrambling for her phone. 

She grabs it up just before voicemail picks up, without a chance to see who it was. “Hello?”

“Clarke?” 

There’s a lot of background noise and she can’t tell who is on the other end of the line, it sounds like a girl, but she pulls the phone from her ear and sees  **Bellamy Blake** on the screen. Her heart does a small flip, as it usually does when her best friend calls her.

“Bellamy?”

“No,” the voice replies. “This is Gina, I work at Mecha.”

Clarke knits her brows together, already looking for her shoes on the floor beneath her feet. “Mecha?”

“Yeah, the bar down on 4th.”

_ Right. Pub crawl. Wells’ bachelor party.  _

“Fuck,” she mutters. “Is Bellamy okay?”

“He’s a little worse for wear. One of his buddies said to call you to pick him up.”

Clarke tugs on her boot, phone held to her ear with her shoulder as she laces it up. “Yeah, no, I’ll be there as soon as I can. What’s the cross street?”

“Walden, we’re right next door to the Greenery.” 

She shakes her head. She already knew where Mecha was, she’d been there before but she’s so flustered all the sudden she can’t think straight. 

“Okay, don’t let him go anywhere please.”

The girl says something else, but Clarke’s already hanging up the phone and shoving it in her pocket. She’s wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top with the heat cranked up to max because it’s the middle of December and logically that’s how you do things. 

Clarke is fumbling around the apartment, trying to find her keys. She stops, barely, and notices she’s got hardly any clothes on. Swearing, she notices the basket of clean laundry on the coffee table. She grabs a pair of sweats and pulls them on over her shorts, struggling to get them over her already laced boots. Her long jacket is on the hook by the door and she pulls it on, zipping it all the way to the top and slams the door behind her. 

Her apartment is pretty close to the strip of bars and pubs that the groomsmen were crawling down and luckily, Clarke finds a parking spot right in front of Mecha.

The bell chimes when she pushes through the door and she feels herself relax the moment she sees him. Bellamy’s arms are crossed on the bar and his forehead is resting against the back of his hand. 

There’s a pretty brunette behind the bar and she tips her head towards Bellamy in a question. Clarke just nods and sidles up next to him. She slides one hand across his back, gently, trying not to startle him, the other grasps gently around his wrist with a soft tug. 

“Bellamy,” she coos. 

He stirs, pulling his head up languidly. His eyes are glassy but he has a lazy, drooping smile and Clarke swears she can hear her heart in her eyes. 

“Princess,” he sings. 

Clarke smiles, letting out a small puff of air. “You ready to go?” she says, trying to coax him off the stool. Gina reappears in front of them and slides his keys and wallet towards her. Clarke mouths a  _ thank you _ and Bellamy slings his arm across Clarke’s shoulders as she guides him towards the door. 

Spotting his jacket, she spends a tricky minute trying to untangle him from her side and get his arm through the sleeves. “Bellamy,” she hisses. “Work with me here.”

Her fingers work the buttons and Bellamy stills above her and his hand moves to a loose curl that’s escaped from her bun. He tries to tuck back into place and he pouts when it bounces back away.

“I can’t be tamed, Bellamy.” 

He snorts, fingers continuing to scratch at her scalp. She almost forgot how tactile he gets when he’s drunk. 

“Clarke-y,” he says, dropping his face to her ear, tickling her with his warm breath. “Clarke-y,” he repeats, and then he snorts. “That’s not your name. Claaaaarke.” 

He goes quiet again when they reach her car and she shuffles him inside, he stoops dramatically, trying to avoid hitting his head. 

“Okay, you’re not  _ that _ tall, Bellamy.” 

He frowns at her where she’s standing on the curb, one hand holding the car door. “Your car is very small.” 

She rolls her eyes,  _ this beautiful dumb idiot.  _ “You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re being dramatic!”

“Oh?” he scoffs.

Clarke shuts the door swiftly and scurries back to the driver’s side, sliding and and sticking the keys in the ignition quickly. The heater turns on full blast and Bellamy slumps against the seat, head lolling to look at her. 

Clarke navigates away from the curb and begins the drive to Bellamy’s apartment. Bellamy isn’t a super talkative drunk, but she knows he’s pretty out of it based on body language. When he hits a certain level of intoxication, his ears get red and he gets kind of sniffly. 

She clicks on her blinker to turn into his complex and he sniffles next to her, his whole body lax in the passenger seat. 

“Hey,” she says quietly, once she’s pulled into a parking space. “We’re at your apartment.”

His eyes come back into focus and he smiles. “Oh, my apartment.”

Clarke laughs softly. “Yes, your apartment, Bellamy. 

“Are you coming in to my apartment?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you need me to come in?”

His eyes narrow at her, dark and intense and her chest grows warm. He then gives her a classic cocky Bellamy smirk. “Well I don’t  _ neeeeed _ you to come in, but you do have my keys.” 

She blinks once. Twice.  _ Duh. _

“How about I just walk you to the door, keys can be difficult when inebriated.”

“You’re inebriated.”

“Good one.”

It takes several minutes, and Clarke has to swat Bellamy’s hands away from her hair three times before they make it to his front door. She slides the key in the lock and they push their way into the dark entryway. 

“Oh, good. We’re home.”

_ We’re home. _

“Yes, Bellamy, I brought you home. Now, you need to get in your bed and I’m going to get you some water and then go back to  _ my  _ apartment.”

He ignores her in favor of tearing off his jacket and throwing it on the floor, heading towards his bedroom. Clarke fills an empty glass by the sink with water and follows him. Her stomach flips when he starts unbuckling his pants and taking off his shirt in the doorway and Clarke stands there dumbly with the water and aspirin she’d grabbed from the drawer by the refrigerator. 

She clears her throat. 

Bellamy turns around, almost surprised. “Clarke!” 

Donning only his boxers at this point, he offers her a goofy grin. Clarke sucks in a deep breath and moves towards him. She places a hand on his chest-- _ his firm, warm chest, _ and pushes him to the bed. Barely getting the glass of water on the nightstand, Bellamy grabs her wrist and pulls her onto the bed with him. 

“Bellamy--  _ Jesus, _ ” she mutters. Narrowly avoiding straddling his legs, she topples over him and lands on the far side of the bed.

Bellamy rolls onto his side, reaching for Clarke and pulling her close. Clarke squirms a little when Bellamy nuzzles his face into her neck. 

“Bellamy,” she whispers. “Hey, I gotta go. You’re okay?”

He mumbles something into her neck.

“What?”

He pulls back and looks at her, eyes still hooded and glassy. “Stay with me.” 

“You want me to?”

He takes a deep, whiney breath. “Claaaarke.” 

Bellamy’s eyes flutter shut and Clarke sighs. “Okay.” Clarke watches him, his breath slowing. “Good night, Bellamy,” she whispers.

Catching her by surprise, Bellamy shifts forward and presses his lips to hers. It’s quick, and he tastes like whiskey and it burns straight through her. He barely pulls away, whispers, “Good night, Clarke,” and he’s falling asleep.

Clarke’s entire body catches fire. Heart pounding in her ears. She slowly rolls onto her back, shifting towards the edge of the bed, as far from the heat radiating off Bellamy’s body as she can get.

She stares at the ceiling until she feels her phone vibrate. She grabs it quickly and slides it into the unlocked position.

 

**wells**

_ did bellamy make it home ok _

**clarke**

_ yeah he’s in bed now _

**wells**

_ thanks for that _

**clarke**

_ nah enjoy the rest of your night, i’ll take care of him _

**wells**

_ love you _

**clarke**

_ you too  _

 

Clarke shuts off the screen and flops her arm and phone back against the mattress beside her. A millions things race through her brain and almost every single one of them ends in  _ I’m fucked.  _ It takes her hours to fall asleep.

* * *

 

Bellamy groans and twists, the covers getting caught around his legs. His mouth is dry and stale, his head is pounding, and he has to pee like a motherfucker. He’s about to extract himself from the bed when he hears a soft sigh. 

Whipping his head to the side he sees Clarke, sans bra, curled up on his other pillow.

_ Shit. Fuck. Shitfuckgoddamn. _

“Fuck,” he hisses.

_ I slept with Clarke Griffin. _

She starts to stir and her eyes blink open. 

_ I slept with Clarke Griffin and I can’t fucking remember. _

“Bellamy? Hi,” she says, voice thick with sleep.

_ It wasn’t supposed to be like this. _

“Clarke.”

_ This was all wrong. _

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“God, Clarke,” he rasps. He runs a hand over his face. “Shit, last night-- last night was a mistake.”

Clarke sits up, fully awake now. She blinks, then shakes her head a little, then blinks again.

“A mistake?”

“ _ Fuck,  _ I mean--”

“No, I get it.” Clarke throws her legs off the side of the bed, grabs her bra from the floor and storms out.

“What the fuck,” Bellamy groans and throws himself back on the bed. 

The rest of the day sucks, really. He’s completely hungover, Clarke won’t return his texts, and he gets a bill from Octavia’s school that he forgot to pay. Miller comes over around six and they play FIFA until Bellamy nearly falls asleep with the controller in his hand and Miller kicks him.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

Bellamy’s eyes flutter back open and he frowns. “I fucked up, man.”

Miller leans forward, grabs his beer from the coffee table and sets the controller down. “What did you do this time?”

Bellamy ignores the implication that this is a regular occurrence and says, “I slept with Clarke.”

“Dude!” Miller’s eyes bug out.

Bellamy shrugs. “Yeah, it would be great if I hadn’t been blackout drunk and remembered any of it!”

This time Miller frowns. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Bellamy rubs the back of his neck. “Clarke picked me up from Wells’ pub crawl last night because I was shitfaced, she brought me back here, I assume. I woke up this morning and she’s in my fucking bed. I have no clothes on except my underwear and she’s not wearing a bra! I told her it was a mistake and she stormed out without saying anything.”

Miller stares at him, stony expression and takes another swig of his beer. 

“Huh.”

“Huh?” Bellamy chuffs. “Huh?! Miller I’ve been in love with his girl for years! I just fucked up  _ everything _ .” 

“Call her.” 

“It’s not that simple.”

“Except that it could be. Have you ever thought maybe,  _ just maybe _ , that girl is in love with you too?”

“She’s my best friend.”

Miller rolls his eyes. “Why wouldn’t you want to fall in love with your best friend?”

Bellamy swallows. “I fucked it up.”

“Maybe, but you sure ain’t going to fix it by wallowing on the couch.”

He thinks about it, then kicks Miller out, opting for a long hot shower and an early bedtime. He’ll call her in the morning.

And he does.

Except she doesn’t answer.

In fact, she ignores his phone calls the  _ entire _ week. And texts. And Facebook messages. And tweets, and anything he can do to try and get a hold of her. She doesn’t come to the squad movie night, Octavia says she wasn’t feeling well. 

Then, it’s been three weeks and Wells’ wedding is this afternoon and she’s not going to be able to avoid him then because they are both in the wedding.

He’s helping Wells’ with his tie when he sees her pass by the dressing room, he apologizes to Wells and then chases after her. 

“Clarke!”

She ignores his call but he continues to follow, catching her wrist just as she’s about to turn the corner. 

“Clarke,” he says again, out of breath.

Clarke’s in the blue bridesmaids dresses Raven picked out and her hair is twisted back in a loose up-do, curly wisps framing her face. She is beautiful and he  _ missed  _ her.

She looks at him, and his heart plummets. 

“Clarke, what the hell?”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Bellamy balks. “Whats. Up.” She offers a thin lip smile, expectantly. “Clarke, you’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”

“I’ve just been really busy, Bellamy, I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit.”

She frowns. “Seriously, Bellamy.”

“Seriously nothing! You’ve been ignoring my calls, my texts.” He deflates, searching her face for any sign of  _ anything _ . “Did I--  _ God _ , did I hurt you? That night?  _ Fuck, _ I’m so sorry, I should never have even-- I couldn’t-- I’m--”

Clarke’s face is scrunched up in an odd expression. 

“What?” Bellamy breathes.

“Bellamy, god,  _ no,  _ of course you didn’t hurt me-- nothing  _ happened, _ ” Clarke says. “God did you think-- oh my god, did you think we had sex?”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen that way, I’m-- think? What do you mean did I think? We didn’t have sex?”

Clarke laughs almost morbidly. “ _ No _ .”

“If we didn’t have sex then…”

“I mean, not  _ nothing _ happened, you kissed me.”

Bellamy feels sick. “I did?” It turns, very quickly, to anger. “Fuck, Clarke!”

“What?” she says defensively.

“What?” he says, voice rising. “I’ve been sick to my stomach for  _ weeks _ because I thought, somehow I hurt you, or made you feel used or uncomfortable because I was so fucking drunk I couldn’t even  _ remember _ how you got into my fucking bed. We were in our underwear!”

“ _ You _ were in your underwear, you started stripping as soon as we got into your apartment,” she adds flatly.

Bellamy snorts. “You weren’t wearing your bra, I-- what the hell was I supposed to think?”

Clarke glares at him. “You could have just fucking asked me, instead of calling it a mistake! Like having sex with me was the worst possible scenario. Fuck, Bellamy, I thought I meant  _ something. _ ”

“You do!” he shouts. One of Wells’ aunts passes them and Bellamy clenches his jaw, waiting for her to be out of earshot. “Fuck,” he says softer. “You mean  _ everything. _ ” 

Clarke’s breath catches. 

“You’re my  _ best friend _ , Clarke. It wasn’t supposed to be some stupid drunken hookup. It was supposed to happen different,  _ better.  _ I was supposed to remember it.”

Clarke remains quiet for a minute before saying, “Okay, but it didn’t happen.” 

“But I did kiss you.”

“Yeah okay, so you don’t remember our first kiss.” She shrugs. 

Bellamy steps towards her. “I wanted to.” 

“Then pretend this is it.” 

Clarke closes the last bit of distance between them and presses her lips to his. He responds immediately, hands on her hips and walking her back a step until she hits the wall. Her hands frame his face, thumbs skimming down his jaw as she pushes her tongue into his mouth. 

His hands skim up the soft dress, pulling this fabric dangerously high on her thighs. 

Clarke turns her head slightly and Bellamy continues nipping at her jaw. “Hang on,” she rasps, grabs his wrist and pulls him down the hall towards a door. She shoves him inside hastily and it’s a closet. Turning around after locking it behind her, Bellamy crowds her against the door, wedging a leg between her thighs so she can grind down. His hand sneaks under the hem of her skirt, and his thumb traces the outline of her underwear. 

They make out against the door for a few minutes until Clarke finally manages to push him away, panting. 

“Wedding.”

“Proposing already?” Bellamy muses. 

She swats at him, tugging at her dress with her free hand. “No, we have a wedding to go to, like, now.” 

Bellamy looks at his watch. “Shit, yeah.”

Clarke leans against the door and smiles. “You’re my best friend, too,” she says, quiet. 

Bellamy’s face splits into a grin. “So, basically we’re both fucking idiots.”

Clarke ducks her head. “I’m sorry I ran out.”

“I’m sorry I kissed you and called it a mistake.”

“I love you.”

“I--what?”

Clarke’s chest grows pink and she looks up at him earnestly. “You’re my best friend, and I am  _ in love _ with you. I think from the moment you went to Raven and asked her to build a brace for Cosmo after his accident, I just knew that you were my person.”

“Well, Cosmo is a badass three legged dog who deserves the best.” 

Clarke reaches for his tie and tugs him close, burying her face in his chest. Bellamy kisses the top of her head. “You deserve the best, too,” she murmurs into his chest. 

“I love you, too.” 

Bellamy feels her smiling against his shirt, and he wants to stay in this moment forever. 

A muffled, “ _ Clarke! Bellamy! _ ” comes from outside and they break down into laughter. 

“I think we’re being summoned.”

Clarke leans up and kisses him with exploring touches and soft sighs. She pulls away and before they exit the closet she puts a hand on his chest, “Don’t drink too much tonight.”

“I’m going to remember every second of tonight.”

* * *

 

And he does.

He remembers every touch. 

He remembers the way she says his name, pants his name, screams his name. 

He remembers the way she feels around him, underneath him, above him.

He remembers the marks and bruises. 

Bellamy wants to remember Clarke in this moment, and every moment thereafter. 


	5. Got Everyone Watchin' Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically I asked Aby for a smutty prompt because I have had major writers block and she gave me: ‘artist!clarke taking a break from her museum/gallery showcase for a quickie with curator / security guard!bellamy, maybe in the coatroom, or in an exhibit free of people, on the sly’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this is any good, but I've been majorly blocked, so I'm /trying/

The bustle of the gallery room grew louder with each passing minute. Champagne flutes clinking and boisterous drunken laughter overtook her senses. 

_Overload._

Abby had set up this networking showcase for Clarke, in a motion of good faith, allowing Clarke to meet potential buyers for her new collection. Clarke tried ignore how anxious she was. 

She was proud of her collection. It was something she’d worked on tirelessly for the last nine months, working closely with the museum curator to maximize the use of her space and the total experience. This showcase was important, there was a lot of money in the room; money that could fund her next collection and potentially catapult her into the next level of her career.

In the middle of distracted conversation of small talk with one of her mother’s political connections, Clarke spotted him loitering in the corner. 

Bellamy wasn’t required to be present at the event, but as the museum curator, _he_ felt it necessary to make an appearance. Schmooze and booze, all that. 

Clarke felt a flush creep into her chest when his eyes found hers and he tipped his head towards the hall, just slightly. She swallowed and dragged her eyes back to the Senator, or councilman, whoever it was and smiled politely.

“I’m so sorry, but I’ve just seen someone I need to say hello to. Thank you so much for you support,” she said sweetly. “If you have anymore questions about the collection or my work, I’m sure my mother can get you my information.”

The older man nodded and Clarke excused herself, grabbing a flute of champagne from a waiter as she made her way towards the hall Bellamy had now disappeared down.

He was leaning against the wall, close to the entrance. When he saw her, he rolled himself up from his position, grabbed her wrist and swung open the door beside him. 

 _“Bellamy!”_ Clarke gasped, trying not to spill her drink as Bellamy rushed her into the _closet_  and closed the door, the only light coming from a dim bulb hanging low off the ceiling. A moment later, he had taken the glass from her hand and put it somewhere she could see and then crowded her against the door. 

Clarke’s chest heaved with a different kind of gasp as Bellamy’s mouth attached itself to her neck, sucking and nibbling. Her head dropped back against the door and Bellamy moved one of his hands from the door above her head to cup her jaw. His warm, calloused hands danced over her skin, and he dragged them lower. He ran his thumb over her collar bone and then nudged the strap of her dress, let it droop off her shoulder so he could now sink his teeth into the flesh there. 

 _“Bellamy,”_ she said, her voice a whisper this time, husky and strained.

“Hi,” he murmured against her skin, and Clarke smiled and reached for him, pulling his face upwards. Clarke let her fingers ghost over his face, pressing her thumb into the dip in his chin, then she dropped her hand and grabbed his tie. Bellamy gravitated closer as Clarke played with the dark blue fabric.

Bellamy leaned in and kissed her slowly, and she felt drunker now than the champagne had made her all night. After a moment, Bellamy pulled back and Clarke lolled her head lazily as Bellamy’s hand rubbed idle circles at her waist. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

A smile tugged at his lips. “I couldn’t miss _this_ _.”_

“This being my show, or this being me pressed against you in a dark closet.”

“Well...” he said, teasing.

Clarke slapped at his chest and laughter rumbled through her, warming her up everywhere. 

“No, seriously Clarke,” he said, gazing at her. “Everything turned out amazing.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Bellamy ducked his head, suddenly shy. 

Clarke continued, “So, thank you.”

Tipping his head back up, Clarke surged forward and found his lips, pulling him in for a heated kiss. Bellamy’s hands slipped lower, running over her thighs and pushing the hem of her dress up and up. He found the lacy edge of her panties and toyed with it. 

Clarke tugged his bottom lip between her teeth, then pulled away slightly breathless. “I don’t have long.”

He gazed at her smugly. “No problem.” 

Bellamy rocked his hips forward and she felt him right against her heat. Clarke groaned and arched her back as Bellamy kissed the swell of her breast. Her hands reached for his belt buckle and Bellamy pulled at her dress, releasing her breasts from the fabric. He growled when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra and wrapped his lips around a nipple. 

Clarke’s hands froze on his zipper and Bellamy slipped his free one back up the skirt of her dress, less taunting and teasing this time, and cupped her fully. Clarke rocked down on his hand and panted, “Hurry up.”

“Easy,” he said into her breast. “I’m getting there.”

Bellamy pushed her panties aside and ran a finger along her slit, gathering the wetness that was already pooling between her thighs. “Fuck, Clarke. So wet and ready.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, head tipped back. Her fingers threaded into his curls and scratched at his scalp. “Only for you, Bellamy.”

Pressing his thumb to her clit, he slid another finger into her, curling it up as she rolled her hips against him. Clarke squeezed her eyes shut as Bellamy began to her over with his fingers, she hauled one of her legs up over his hips, changing his access and allowing him to hit that spot in side of her. Her whole body began to curl into itself and Bellamy surged forward for another kiss, long and dirty as Clarke began to tense and fluttering around his fingers. 

The only sounds were Bellamy’s fingers in her cunt and the harsh panting against each other’s mouths. He pulled out the finger from inside her and began rubbing at her clit with two fingers, circling until he swallowed Clarke’s shout as she came.

Clarke slumped back against the door and Bellamy slowed his fingers, letting her body shiver with the aftershock. Their faces still close, Bellamy rested his forehead on hers, waiting for her to open her eyes.

After a moment, she did, and Bellamy pushed her panties back into place and brought his hand up to her face. She caught his thumb between her teeth as he grazed her jaw, and her whole mouth wrapped around it, sucking it clean.

Bellamy moaned as she released it with a wet _pop!_  and she watched him with hooded eyes. 

“I wish you could come out there and hold my hand,” she said quietly. 

Bellamy deflated a little. “I know. But how would it look if the curator and the artist were _together_.” 

“Fuck if I care, let my mom and her friends gawk.”

Bellamy smiled and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “In time.”

Clarke leaned forward and kissed him sweetly, Bellamy chasing her lips when she tried to pull away. Her laugh tickled his mouth and he tugged on her bottom lip with a smile. 

Straightening up, Bellamy attempted to help Clarke get her dress back in order and they end up laughing about his hands on her breasts. 

After they’ve cleaned up, Clarke frowned. “I didn’t get to _thank_  you.”

“You did.” 

Clarke’s eyes flickered to his dick, still straining against his trousers.

“Later,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. 

“Can I stay at your place tonight?” she asked, almost hesitantly.

Bellamy beamed. “You can stay _any_ night.”

Clarke flushed and kissed him again. “I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight, then.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Now, go work the room and get that money from those stiff-ass politicians.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Clarke said wink a wink.

Bellamy slapped her on the ass before she exited the closet and then counted, _very slowly,_ to thirty and followed her back into the exhibit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me comments/kudos if you liked it, that always help keep me encouraged!


End file.
